of my mind.”
“A piece of your mind?” Jack asked, his chest rumbling with laughter beneath my cheek. “Did we time travel to 1955? What did you pick up that’s so earth shattering?”
“Leon Stein is none other than Friedrich Josef Durst of the Third Reich.”
“Excuse me?” Jack asked. He sat up and I came up with him.
I was really wishing I’d dug my pajamas out of the suitcase because I was freezing. Jack had already rolled out of bed and pulled on a pair of shorts, and he tossed a T-shirt at me so it hit me square in the chest.
“I’ve never heard of Friedrich Durst,” I said. “Should I have?”
“Not unless you’ve studied Hitler’s henchmen. Durst was a commander of multiple concentration camps, and he’s to this day still considered a Nazi War Criminal. According to his file, he alone was responsible for the deaths of more than half a million men, women, and children. He fancied himself a doctor and experimented on those who caught his eye—mostly young girls from the age of fifteen to twenty. I’ll spare you the details and send it to you in an email. I’ll just say it makes my stomach turn, which is saying something considering I’ve seen about everything there is to see in this job.”
“That seems like a good motive for killing someone,” I said. “Maybe Leon’s old identity wasn’t as well hidden as he thought it was.”
“Possibly. Or maybe the motive has more to do with the ten million dollar price on his head, payable until his hundredth birthday. Dead or alive.”
“Jesus,” Jack said. “You’re fucking kidding me.”
“I wish I was. And let me tell you something else. The minute those fingerprints went into the system things lit up like the Fourth of July. I hadn’t expected that kind of response, so I didn’t have it protected. Every agency in the world knows those are Friedrich Durst’s fingerprints. You’d best prepare yourself for the shit storm.”
“Hell. How long do you think we have before we’re descended upon?”
“You’ve probably got twenty-four hours, and that’s being generous. If you’re going to find out who killed Durst then your window of opportunity is very small.”
“What do you mean if we find out who killed Durst?” Jack asked.
“Come on, man. You think anyone is going to convict someone for killing a man like Durst? They’ll be considered a hero.”
“That’s not for us to decide,” Jack said, stiffly. “Murder is murder.”
I pressed my lips together to keep from saying anything. The thing about Jack was that he believed in the system. He believed in right and wrong. And he believed that two wrongs didn’t necessarily make something right. By Jack’s way of thinking, a man like Durst might deserve to die, but the man who killed him shouldn’t be lauded as a hero. He was still a murderer.
My conscience wasn’t quite as honorable as Jack’s. I had a tendency to bend the line for justice every now and again. I believed in shades of gray and that sometimes people got the justice they deserved. Justice that a court of law couldn’t always deliver. Which was why I was keeping my mouth shut. A honeymoon probably wasn’t the best place for an argument on ethics.
“Settle down, cowboy,” Carver said. “I know you well. Go do what you do. I’m just telling you to expect company, and that not everyone is going to thank you for what you’re doing.”
“They asked for help. That’s all I can do. What did you find out about Father Fernando?”
“He was born on the mainland. Led a very sheltered life. Was raised by his mother after his father was killed in a boating accident. He entered the priesthood at twenty and has been at his current church just over twenty years. He seems to be your every day, garden-variety priest. No skeletons in the closet that I could find. Now the other one, Father DeCosta, is a different story. He’s got a sealed juvie record.”
My brows rose at that. “I don’t supposed he’s
“A piece of your mind?” Jack asked, his chest rumbling with laughter beneath my cheek. “Did we time travel to 1955? What did you pick up that’s so earth shattering?”
“Leon Stein is none other than Friedrich Josef Durst of the Third Reich.”
“Excuse me?” Jack asked. He sat up and I came up with him.
I was really wishing I’d dug my pajamas out of the suitcase because I was freezing. Jack had already rolled out of bed and pulled on a pair of shorts, and he tossed a T-shirt at me so it hit me square in the chest.
“I’ve never heard of Friedrich Durst,” I said. “Should I have?”
“Not unless you’ve studied Hitler’s henchmen. Durst was a commander of multiple concentration camps, and he’s to this day still considered a Nazi War Criminal. According to his file, he alone was responsible for the deaths of more than half a million men, women, and children. He fancied himself a doctor and experimented on those who caught his eye—mostly young girls from the age of fifteen to twenty. I’ll spare you the details and send it to you in an email. I’ll just say it makes my stomach turn, which is saying something considering I’ve seen about everything there is to see in this job.”
“That seems like a good motive for killing someone,” I said. “Maybe Leon’s old identity wasn’t as well hidden as he thought it was.”
“Possibly. Or maybe the motive has more to do with the ten million dollar price on his head, payable until his hundredth birthday. Dead or alive.”
“Jesus,” Jack said. “You’re fucking kidding me.”
“I wish I was. And let me tell you something else. The minute those fingerprints went into the system things lit up like the Fourth of July. I hadn’t expected that kind of response, so I didn’t have it protected. Every agency in the world knows those are Friedrich Durst’s fingerprints. You’d best prepare yourself for the shit storm.”
“Hell. How long do you think we have before we’re descended upon?”
“You’ve probably got twenty-four hours, and that’s being generous. If you’re going to find out who killed Durst then your window of opportunity is very small.”
“What do you mean if we find out who killed Durst?” Jack asked.
“Come on, man. You think anyone is going to convict someone for killing a man like Durst? They’ll be considered a hero.”
“That’s not for us to decide,” Jack said, stiffly. “Murder is murder.”
I pressed my lips together to keep from saying anything. The thing about Jack was that he believed in the system. He believed in right and wrong. And he believed that two wrongs didn’t necessarily make something right. By Jack’s way of thinking, a man like Durst might deserve to die, but the man who killed him shouldn’t be lauded as a hero. He was still a murderer.
My conscience wasn’t quite as honorable as Jack’s. I had a tendency to bend the line for justice every now and again. I believed in shades of gray and that sometimes people got the justice they deserved. Justice that a court of law couldn’t always deliver. Which was why I was keeping my mouth shut. A honeymoon probably wasn’t the best place for an argument on ethics.
“Settle down, cowboy,” Carver said. “I know you well. Go do what you do. I’m just telling you to expect company, and that not everyone is going to thank you for what you’re doing.”
“They asked for help. That’s all I can do. What did you find out about Father Fernando?”
“He was born on the mainland. Led a very sheltered life. Was raised by his mother after his father was killed in a boating accident. He entered the priesthood at twenty and has been at his current church just over twenty years. He seems to be your every day, garden-variety priest. No skeletons in the closet that I could find. Now the other one, Father DeCosta, is a different story. He’s got a sealed juvie record.”
My brows rose at that. “I don’t supposed he’s
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